


A Bullet in the Barrel

by emj1s



Series: Turn Forever Hand in Hand [4]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Barebacking, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Lace Panties, Light Humiliation, M/M, Mirror Sex, Modern Bucky Barnes, Rimming, Shrunkyclunks, Top Steve Rogers, happy halloween!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 05:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21248441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emj1s/pseuds/emj1s
Summary: “Hey there, Soldier,” Bucky’s voice sounds, and Steve looks up, then stops dead in his tracks. His mouth falls open, eyes wide, and there’s a vague thump on the carpet that lets him know his phone has honest to god fallen out of his hand.Bucky’s lips, painted red, stretch into a smug grin.





	A Bullet in the Barrel

**Author's Note:**

> This work takes place in the same universe as the previous installments of this series, but you by no means have to read them to understand this.

He’s cutting it incredibly close, and he knows it. Steve hightails it off the bike and into the apartment building, foregoing the wait for the elevator to run up the stairs instead. Their apartment is only on the fourth floor; it’s not too long a trip, especially for him. 

The door is unlocked, thank god. Bucky’s surely already been home for hours, spending his time getting ready. They’d promised to go to a Halloween party some friends of Bucky’s are throwing. They don’t do things like this often, preferring to let Steve keep a low profile, but there’s nothing wrong with being Steven Grant for a while to appease Bucky’s friends. Besides, he’s got the beard grown out now, and his hair is longer - he looks a far cry from the image of Captain America everyone has in their heads. It shouldn’t be an issue.

Bucky is going to distract anyone from him, anyway; he never looks anything but perfect on nights like this, but he’s been weirdly quiet about his costume, avoiding Steve’s questions and just giving him knowing smiles.

“I can’t even have a hint?” Steve had whined, catching Bucky when he’d tried to slide past him and twisting the smaller man around until he was boxed in between the wall and Steve’s strong arms.

“Absolutely not,” Bucky had refuted with a firm shake of his head and a playful smile. “Other than you’re gonna love it.”

“Course I’m gonna love it,” Steve scoffed, “It’s you on Halloween; it’s gonna be skimpy and showy and you’re gonna bitch my ear off about how cold you are until I give you my jacket. It’ll be sexy as hell.” Bucky had just laughed and shoved at his broad chest until Steve let him slip from his hold, smiling after his smug little boyfriend as he made his escape.

Now, he bursts into the apartment, closing the door a little too hard behind him. “I’m home!” he calls out. 

“Bedroom,” Bucky calls in response. 

“Sorry, sorry, I know I’m late, but we still have, like, almost an hour, right? We’re good?” He walks through the apartment as he speaks, pulling his phone out to check the time as he pushes the bedroom door open.

“Hey there, Soldier,” Bucky’s voice sounds, and Steve looks up, then stops dead in his tracks. His mouth falls open, eyes wide, and there’s a vague thump on the carpet that lets him know his phone has honest to god fallen out of his hand. 

“I--” Steve cuts off, his mouth suddenly dry, and snaps it closed to swallow, because holy  _ shit. _

Bucky’s lips, painted red, stretch into a smug grin. White gloved hands are perched on his hips, the wide red waistband cinching him tight and the glittering silver belt settled high on his hips. The navy blue of the blouse cuts sharply at his chest, and he might as well not be wearing a shirt at all, what with how far down the vee of it goes.

It’s a fucking USO chorus girl outfit, and Steve is already hard.

His eyes get stuck on Bucky’s legs. Long and lean, and fucking bare, and did he shave? He must have shaved. His skin looks smooth and soft, pale, and he follows the long lines of them down and then about swallows his tongue because those are - those are heels. Little silver T-strap heels done up careful around Bucky’s slender ankles, keeping him on his toes, accentuating the curve of his calves.

If it weren’t for the obvious masculinity shining through the outfit, he would have fit right in on the USO tour, all bright smiles and shining eyes. Steve thinks he wears the outfit better than any girl ever had. He’d tell them, too, damn any offended scoffs he’d get in return; how could the girls disagree when Bucky’s standing there, looking like that, making Steve want to spend his entire salary on war bonds? 

Bucky walks closer, hips swaying easily, and Steve can’t help it; he reaches out, gently curls his fingers around Bucky’s waist, and pulls him in until they’re flush against each other.

“Are you kidding me?” Steve breathes, and Bucky laughs, gloved hands resting on Steve’s chest. His cap, cutely offset, must be pinned in place within an inch of its life, because it’s defying gravity by staying on his head as he tips it to the side teasingly.

“I think I’m a shoo-in for the costume contest,” Bucky says mildly, and Steve groans. 

“You’re goin’ out in this? In  _ public?” _ he asks weakly, and Bucky’s smile turns devious. 

“Unless you got a better way for me to spend my night,” he says, nodding, dragging his fingers teasingly down Steve’s chest. One hand raises, catching Bucky’s thin fingers, the silk of his glove soft against his rough palm. His other hand falls, curling in the fluffy layers of Bucky’s skirt and hitching them up just to watch the way Bucky squirms with the possessive motion.

“Y’know what? I think I just might,” Steve muses, and then slants their lips together, tongue pushing Bucky’s apart. He doesn’t even spare a passing thought for the red lipstick he’s sure is going to smear everywhere, and from the sound of Bucky’s happy little moan, neither does he; instead he kisses back, matching Steve’s enthusiasm as the other man slides his hand to Bucky’s bare back, the scoop of the top leaving all that skin exposed.

“I don’t remember,” he says breathlessly once he can manage to pull away, “these dresses being quite this showy.” Bucky snorts. 

“That’s cause you’re a gentleman who didn’t stare at the USO girls. Believe me, honey, it’s a perfect replica.” Bucky winks, and his lipstick isn’t a total mess - better quality than the stuff the girls wore back in the day - but it’s definitely smeared, matching the high points of color on Bucky’s cheeks. God, but Steve just wants to mess him up. Get him teary eyed, crying, see if that mascara coating his lashes thickly is waterproof or not. 

Steve laughs and kisses him again, backing him up until Bucky hits the dresser. 

“Lemme get a look at you, sugar,” Steve breathes, pulling back and letting his hands find Bucky’s waist again. He gives him an up and down, rumbling his approval, and Bucky hums softly, preening at the attention.

“What do you think, Cap?” he asks, resting his hands on the dresser behind him. The motion makes his back arch, pushing out his little chest, and the soft light of the bedroom catches the shining stars on his lapels. Steve stays quiet, but gives a little nod, skating his fingers up Bucky’s sides.

“I think,” he muses, eyes darting back to Bucky’s, “that I can’t decide if I wanna hitch your pretty skirts up and do you on the dresser right here, face to face--” he abruptly grabs at Bucky, yanking him close and perching him on the strong muscle of his thigh to the sound of the other’s delighted gasp, “ or if I wanna bend you over so I can watch you take my cock.”

Bucky’s face goes pink, and it’s the sweetest thing Steve’s ever seen. Still, though, there’s that knowing gleam in Bucky’s eye, the kind that he’s seen in club bathrooms and on their kitchen floor. 

"Either way," Bucky says, a cat's smile curling his lips, "you're in for a surprise when you get under the dress, soldier."

Steve narrows his eyes, and then grips the red and white skirt, shoving it and the tulle making it puff out up towards Bucky’s hips. His brain abruptly stops functioning for a solid three seconds at the lace he finds there.

“Are you  _ kidding _ me?” Steve groans again, staring in shock and barely hearing Bucky’s delighted laugh. His fingers reach down, ghosting over the smooth, soft fabric covering Bucky’s hips, his cock hard and trapped against his hip through the tight cloth.

Steve slides his hand up and snaps the lace waistband against Bucky’s pale skin, then goes still as he snakes his hand around to Bucky’s ass and finds only flesh beneath his palm.

In a flash he’s got Bucky flipped over, the other giving a shocked gasp as his forearms catch his weight, just barely keeping him from slamming face first into the solid oak of the dresser. Steve can’t even think of apologizing because that’s a fucking  _ thong, _ Halloween orange and cut high to show off Bucky’s entire ass.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Steve breathes, one hand holding Bucky’s skirt out of the way, the other falling to grip one ass cheek and pull it to the side. The lace of the thong is peeking out teasingly, cupping Bucky’s balls and resting against his hole, and Steve loops his thumb beneath the string, pulling it to the side and then releasing it to snap against Bucky’s entrance.

“Ah!” Bucky gasps, jerking a little, and his hips give a little twitch. “You like it, Captain?” he asks, his voice entirely too smug for Steve’s liking, but still, Steve hums in agreement.

“I love it,” he allows, thumb sliding under the thong again to ghost over Bucky’s hole. “Love that my little slut wanted to get all dolled up for me. Just for me, huh?” His voice is low, rough, and he lets his eyes flick up to watch the way a flush spreads over the back of Bucky’s neck.

“...Yeah,” Bucky sighs out. “Just for you, baby.” His hips shift, impatient, and Steve chuckles. The heels mean that Bucky’s hips are a little higher than the man’s used to, so his back is arched down beautifully, pushing his ass right out like an--

“Eager little whore,” Steve breathes, and the sound that escapes Bucky is pitchy and damn-near needy.

“Think I oughta thank you properly for bein’ so sweet to me,” he muses, and he can hear Bucky’s whine as Steve slowly lowers down to his knees behind him. He grabs the skirt again, shoving it further up Bucky’s back, well out of the way and no longer blocking his view. Then he grabs the waistband of Bucky’s thong and yanks it down harshly, halfway down Bucky’s thighs.

“Spread your legs, Buck,” Steve orders quietly, and Bucky does, as wide as the panties will let him. “Perfect. Stay just like that,” he tells him, leaning in and kissing the curve of Bucky’s ass before biting down harshly and reveling in the high squeak it pulls out of Bucky. One of his feet flies up in surprise, curled at the knee, and Steve gently catches him around the ankle, turns his head and kisses just beneath the buckle of his shoe. 

“Hush,” he soothes him, lowering Bucky’s foot back to the carpet, and Bucky squirms.

“Steve,” he says, voice small, and Steve just hums, kissing the lurid ring of his teeth he’s left against Bucky’s skin. 

“If you want me to eat out this tight little hole you better keep still,” Steve says conversationally, and then cuts Bucky’s answering moan off by spreading his cheeks and licking over his entrance. 

Tension melts out of Bucky as Steve gets to work, beard surely burning the skin of his ass cheeks, but he doesn’t seem to care if the litany of sounds pouring out of his mouth are any indication.

Steve gently scrapes his teeth over the steadily softening ring of muscle, his tongue swirling around it, dipping inside, lips kissing and sucking, and he just cannot get enough of this, of the feeling of Bucky, so sweet and submissive. Steve ducks his head a little, nuzzling lightly at Bucky’s balls before sucking one into his mouth, and Bucky nearly shouts at the sensation. 

“Steve,” he moans, “fuck - oh -  _ oh!” _ He’s dropped from his forearms until his chest is nearly flush to the dresser, and Steve would bet money that if he could see Bucky’s face, his eyes would be rolled back in his head. His baby always loves it when Steve gets his mouth on him, and now is clearly no exception, the restless way Bucky’s hips are jerking a dead giveaway.

One hand lifts from Bucky’s ass only to come down with a hard  _ smack, _ punching a cry from Bucky and a jerk of the other’s hips, and Steve pulls away to breathe, chin and beard slick with spit and making him a goddamn mess.

He stares at Bucky’s twitching hole, red and a little swollen, and then fumbles a hand to the side drawer of the dresser, pulling out a bottle of lube. 

“God damn, baby,” he says roughly, “still got the sweetest, tightest little hole even after how often you need my cock in you.” Bucky nearly sobs, and Steve pours the lube onto his fingers, easily slipping one inside Bucky now that he’s opened up from Steve’s tongue. He ducks again, licking and sucking at Bucky’s balls until the man all but wails, jerking away, and he lets him, laughing and finally standing again. 

He stares at Bucky’s reflection in the mirror atop the dresser, and his finger slows in its steady pumping but doesn’t stop as he takes in the sight.

Bucky’s got one hand on the mirror, the glove the only thing keeping him from smearing handprints across the glass as he braces himself. The mascara, it turns out, is  _ not _ waterproof. There’s black tear tracks running down Bucky’s face, and he’s gonna have to keep the makeup from now on, because Steve doesn’t know if he can ever part from that sight. His lipstick is smeared down his chin, bitten and chewed off, lips swelled, and the glass is a little foggy at the base from Bucky’s hot breath panting across it. 

There’s nothing for it; Steve pushes a second finger in and watches Bucky’s reflection when his eyes flutter closed with a desperate keen as Steve finds his prostate and rubs over it mercilessly. His free hand slides up, curling in the back of Bucky’s hair and gently lifting his head. 

“Look at you,” he breathes, and then gives Bucky a careful shake until the other man listens, staring at his own reflection before then looking over to Steve’s, meeting his eyes in the glass. 

“Steve,” Bucky gasps out, and Steve hums, nods, and uses the grip on Bucky’s hair to tug his head to the side so he can kiss the curve of his throat. “Fuck me, Steve,  _ please,” _ he moans, and well - as history shows, Steve can never tell his baby no. 

Still, he works a third finger into Bucky, kissing and biting gently at his shoulder to work him through it as he curls and thrusts them, pulling at Bucky’s hole, loosening him up just a little more. His own cock is so hard it hurts, and when he finally lets go of Bucky’s hair to undo his fly and pull his dick free, it’s drooling precum and nearing purple at the head. 

He presses his hips to Bucky’s and gently pulls his fingers free, wiping the excess lube from his hand onto Bucky’s bare back and watching him shiver with it. He rocks his hips, cock slotting easily between Bucky’s cheeks and sliding there smoothly as he groans at the friction. 

“Oh, baby,” he moans, and Bucky angles his hips higher, and Steve doesn’t waste any more time after that. He pulls back, grips his cock in hand, and nudges the leaking head to Bucky’s hole.

“Yes,” Bucky breathes, and Steve gets to watch in the mirror as Bucky’s mouth drops with every inch spearing him open, making him whimper desperately until finally Steve is seated deep in that tight heat. His hand slips to Bucky’s shoulder, the other to his hip, and then  _ thrusts _ against him. 

Steve fucks him hard and deep, closes his eyes and lets his head hang, selfish in chasing his own pleasure and gripping bruises into Bucky’s skin. Not that Bucky seems to mind; he’s practically howling, moaning and shouting as Steve fucks in and out, the sound of skin slapping together drowned out by the both of them. 

Steve’s eyes are glued to Bucky’s face, watching the way his eyes roll back, face red, fuck, he thinks Bucky might be drooling-- it’s almost too much, and he nearly comes right there, has to stop thrusting to bury himself deep inside and just grind filthily against Bucky’s ass, circling his hips and watching the way Bucky thrashes on the dresser top like he’s trying to get away. 

Steve’s fingers curl tight against Bucky’s shoulder and jerk him back against him, flush to his hips, listening to the sweet sounds that pour out of Bucky. He ducks his head, hips still working, and licks up the line of Bucky’s spine, tasting the sweat on his hot skin as Bucky arches with the touch, spit cooling into a chilled line that makes him shiver. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he moans, Bucky’s squirming just working his cock even more, “you got no goddamn idea how sweet your little hole feels, baby, all tight and hot and wet, perfect little place to fuck my cock into--” he punctuates the sentence by rocking a harsh thrust out and then slamming back in, his grip on Bucky keeping him from flying into the dresser with the force of it. 

He doesn’t get words out of Bucky in response. Instead he gets a sob, and he watches the familiar furrow of Bucky’s brows. He’s close.  _ Thank fuck, _ Steve thinks, because this was about to get embarrassing, if he finished inside Bucky so soon.

He stops his teasing grinding then, and fucks Bucky in earnest, angled to hit his prostate with almost every thrust. Bucky’s gloved hands scramble, like he wants to reach down and touch himself, but he can’t, not without falling, and the frustrated whimper he lets out sings through Steve’s very bones.

"Gonna come Buck?” Steve asks breathlessly, “Huh? Gonna make a mess of your pretty little skirt, let everybody know you were a filthy little whore who couldn't even undress before bending over for me?” 

Bucky nods frantically, and Steve laughs in disbelief - how is this man real? How is this man  _ his? _ He kisses between his shoulder blades, angles his hips up, and then bites the back of his neck  _ hard.  _ Bucky comes with a scream of Steve’s name, and Steve has to work to keep from letting the smaller man throw him off entirely as he writhes with it.

“Steve!” he shouts, eyes flying open, rolling, squeezing closed, body shaking and going tight, and Steve can’t hold back against the clench of Bucky’s body, against the sob he rips from the other man, and he spills inside him, teeth grit against the pleasure. He has to jerk his hands from Bucky before he grips him tight enough to break him, and watches the way Bucky trembles in exhausted delight at the feeling of Steve finishing.

Steve’s hands find Bucky again, but they’re gentle, rubbing up and down his sides, lips kissing along the backs of his shoulders as the other man shakes beneath him. Now that they’ve finished, all he wants is to be sweet on Bucky, to be soft, to kiss every bruise and bump and smooth his tears over his makeup stained face. Slowly, carefully, Steve pulls out, hushing Bucky as he whines at the sensitivity. 

“Shh, baby, hush,” he says softly, rubbing his lips over the jut of Bucky’s shoulder blade. “So good, sweetheart, god damn, so fuckin’ perfect,” he whispers, praising Bucky over and over again until his shuddering subsides and he finally lays flat to the dresser, cheek pressed to the wood. 

“Holy fuck,” he croaks out, voice cracking and rough from all his shouting, and Steve hums in agreement. 

They spend a little more time like that, Steve stretched out over Bucky’s back and whispering, laughing, until finally, Steve straightens and looks down at Bucky.

His cock gives a valiant twitch, and seriously, fuck the serum, because he could go again if Bucky didn’t look ready to pass out.

His panties are still around his thighs, and there’s a line of Steve’s come dripping down his thigh, his hole red and used. Steve wants to get right back down on his knees, clean him up and then wreck him all over again. He doesn’t; doesn’t even ask, because Bucky’s pushing himself up to stand, stumbling a bit in his heels, and Steve is focused elsewhere now, gripping Bucky gently to keep him on his feet.

“You okay baby?” he asks worriedly, but Bucky just snorts. 

“You just fucked me six ways to Sunday,” he says dryly, “I’m  _ amazing.” _ Steve laughs - he doesn’t know why he expected anything different.

“Party started a half hour ago,” Steve murmurs after glancing at the clock on the nightstand. Eight thirty blinks back at him in red, and Bucky hums quietly, carefully finding his feet beneath him in his heels again. Steve keeps a grip on him still, just in case, flush against his front. 

Bucky stretches, one glove fallen to scrunch around his forearm. His top is askew, and the red waistband is crooked, letting his skirt hitch awkwardly around him. He’s an endearing mess. Steve just wants to strip him out of the costume and take his baby to bed. Maybe the shower. Whichever Bucky suggests. He deserves it, after the mauling Steve just gave him; the bite marks on his ass and neck are going to last for days. 

“Party doesn’t start til 10,” Bucky says, abruptly pulling Steve from his thoughts. “I lied so you’d be home in time for us to fuck and still clean up afterwards.”

Steve gapes at him. “You little shit!” he exclaims, and Bucky laughs. 

“It worked, didn’t it?” he asks smugly, kicking the thong off and smoothing his skirt down. Somehow, there’s not a drop of come on it - the dresser, however is a different story. “Now help me clean up. And help me find my stockings - I’m not actually going out in just a thong under this thing.”

“You’re not?”

“Hell no. It’s fuckin’ cold. Besides, you’re the only one who gets to see this much of me.” He looks up, then, catching Steve’s eye in the dresser mirror, and the smile on his face is downright smitten.

Steve doesn’t have to look at his own reflection to know his expression matches. 

“My little chorus girl,” he coos teasingly, and Bucky’s laugh echoes as he shoves at Steve, sauntering his way to the bathroom to clean up.

“Check the closet,” he calls from the bathroom, “I put a costume for you in there. You’ll hate it, but that’s what you get for letting me pick.”

Later, sitting in a kitchen chair with Bucky perched on his lap, both nursing lukewarm beers in red solo cups as the Monster Mash blares, Steve privately thinks that it doesn’t matter what costume either of them are in; what matters is that they’re together.

But that doesn’t mean he’s not going to get some serious payback for the ridiculous Party City Iron Man costume he’s forced to wear.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus points to anyone who caught the teensy little wink to parts two and three of this series. It's literally one line, but I was happy with it.  
Not betaed, all mistakes are my own.  
I had the idea for this fic in September, said "oh, I have plenty of time to do that!" and then promptly forgot about it until yesterday.  
Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Come find me on [tumblr!](http://emj1s.tumblr.com)  
I also now have a fandom twitter account - there'll be fic updates and the like posted there moreso than my tumblr most likely, so also give me a follow [there!](http://twitter.com/buckingrogers)


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